The amber light dodecahedron dissolved completely within the inn room. Aslam's body rested on the wooden floor, covered by a thin layer of dried blood and impurities expelled from his very core.
He opened his eyelids slowly. His sclerae and irises maintained a gray, milky, and totally opaque tone. Physical blindness persisted as a residual effect of the insane overload endured by his meridians hours earlier. The eyeball and optic nerves required an extra period to regenerate the ruptured tissues, keeping carnal vision deactivated during the final phase of healing.
The deprivation of common light proved to be absolutely irrelevant. True perception was already operating in its absolute fullness. His brain mapped the environment in three hundred and sixty degrees simultaneously. Seeing the continuous flow of cold air currents entering through the window cracks, the exact density of the rotting wood beneath his back, and the minute dust particles floating in the empty space.
Mana flowed through all matter, drawing an incredibly sharp three-dimensional world directly into his higher consciousness.
The First and Second Connection Rings represented tiny and purely rudimentary stages on the path of magic. The Awakening stage served solely to pluck the individual from absolute ignorance, unlocking the pores for the initial absorption of energy. The Internal Forge functioned as a mere mechanical reinforcement, hardening muscles, bones, and tendons to prevent the rupture of the flesh.
Both phases consisted of biological tricks focused strictly on the caster's physical survival. Faced with the overwhelming magnitude of the Third Ring, these initial levels were reduced to irrelevant child's play.
Aslam breathed deeply, allowing the invasion of this new sensory frequency into his spirit. An overwhelming wave of empathy and reverence flooded his chest immediately. Millennia ago, during the dawn of his original life, the exact consolidation of this Third Ring forged his unconditional love for the physical and spiritual world of mana.
The Expansion brought the sublime capacity to feel the vital pulse of a tree absorbing nutrients from the dark soil. The sorcerer could capture the thermal vibration of the heart of a nocturnal bird flying miles away. He felt the indescribable grandeur of existing. Life pulsed around him, warm, vast, and wonderfully complex.
The First Sorcerer was, finally, united with mana once again.
Aslam projects his torso upward with a sharp impulse of his arms while mana flows at high frequency through every pore of the epidermis. The constant vibration disintegrates the crusts of dried blood and impurities accumulated on the skin into a fine, gray dust.
Sound waves coming from the outer corridor hit his eardrums with information about the third round of the Arcane Championship and the movement of carriages. "The competitors have already started the testing heats at the Central Arena", he concludes upon recognizing the pattern of urgency in the guests' voices.
He measured the exact inclination of solar photons against the skin of his face to calculate the angle of radiation through the window cracks. "The sun reached the zenith before my ocular regeneration completed the full cycle", he perceives as he feels the intense heat on his face.
He locates the Orb of Tirath on the floor through the unique molecular density signature the artifact emits in three-dimensional space, then opens the thick linen bag attached to his flank and settles the spherical object at the bottom of the compartment protected by layers of leather.
The Sorcerer activates one of the fundamental techniques of the Third Ring, called Domain Vigilance, which projects his will beyond the limits of the skin. A pulse of invisible mana expands from his core in a perfect three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle. The wave traverses wood, metal, and flesh, carrying data about the density and vibration of all nearby matter.
The instant mapping of Domain Vigilance floods his mind with the complete architecture of the inn. He feels the innkeeper's racing heart on the floor below, the clinking of copper coins on the counter, and the hurried flow of passersby outside. Each signature of life and mana is unique: some opaque and weak, others slightly shimmering, belonging to adventurers and apprentices rushing not to miss the day's matches.
He walks to the water basin on the dresser. He didn't need to see the liquid to know its temperature, its volume, or its surface tension; he felt the molecules. With a quick gesture, he washes his face to remove any residue that the biological asepsis of mana had not reached.
Physical blindness does not prevent him from dressing with surgical precision. He puts on the earth-brown tunic, adjusting the belts and buckles of his backpack with fluid and uninterrupted movements. His eyes remain open, gray, milky, and focused on the infinite. To any observer, he would be just a blind man.
He recalls the weight of the energy from the "Horizon Devourer" and the small demonstration of modern magic in the courtyard with his siblings. Now, with the Third Ring stabilized and his internal system forged under the crushing pressure of the Orb of Tirath, he had evolved about 10 years in a few hours; the abyss of power between him and the current "masters" of this era was shrinking drastically.
Upon opening the room door, the floorboards of the corridor threaten to creak under his boots, but he absorbs the physical impact, molding the mana around his feet to suppress any sonic vibration. He descends the stairs like a ghost, passing unnoticed by the guests in the lobby.
As soon as he steps onto the paved street, the sensory impact of the capital hits him full force. Eldria was no longer just a cluster of stone buildings and crowded roads; it was a pulsing ocean of energy currents. The city's underground defensive barriers, the lighting crystals deactivated by the sun, the vitality of the horses pulling the carriages, and the blood flow of the citizens.
He adjusts the hood of the tunic over his head, casting a deep shadow over his opaque eyes to avoid unwanted attention, and begins walking toward the Central Arena. Each step is millimetrically calculated, dodging obstacles, puddles of water, and people even before they enter his physical radius.
The arena soon rises on the horizon of his perception, a colossal structure that emitted an absurd amount of residual magic. The muffled applause of the crowd and the bangs of elementary spells colliding reverberate through the ground, rising through the soles of his boots and being translated into precise data by his brain.
As he approaches the gates, the amplified voice of a herald echoes through the access roads, charged with propagation magic:
— Final call for the main bracket competitors! Present yourselves immediately at the combat anteroom!
Aslam crossed the heavy stone arches. Dozens of apprentices walked from one side to the other, but he glided through the crowd like a shadow, using the hood of the tunic pulled deeply over his face. The thick fabric cast a dense darkness, hiding the upper half of his features.
Leaning against a pillar near the Simulation Gate, Elara held a pulsing runic crystal tablet, assuming her role as guide. A few meters from her, Marcus and Cordelia waited.
Far from looking nervous, the Sylvaris siblings exhaled an overwhelming presence. Marcus crossed his arms over his military uniform. At his side, Cordelia kept her hand resting on the pommel of her weapon, the mana around her dense and sharp.
— At the limit of time, boy — Marcus growled, his voice deep and direct. — If you took a minute longer, Cordelia and I would have had to enter at a numerical disadvantage.
— I had a setback — Aslam's voice sounded flat and indifferent under the hood.
Elara cleared her throat, touching the crystal screen with a copper pen. — Pay attention. The tournament matrix has been updated. The internal course is no longer a standard labyrinth. The Committee activated the extreme environmental protocol. You are going to face the Abyss Simulation. And yes, there will be direct combat against other teams. Free hunting zone.
Cordelia raised an eyebrow, a predatory smile drawing on her lips. — An Abyss simulation? They are going to emulate the strata of Umbra?
— Exactly — Elara confirmed, pointing to the copper and runic gold cables on the walls of the gate. — The Research Guild connected the memory crystals to a continuous mana server. The room maps your neural and magical signature. If a virtual beast rips your arm off in there, the physical body will come out unharmed, but the sensors will send a direct shock to the core, simulating exhaustion and pain with perfection. If the magical vitality zeros, the system ejects you.
Under the hood, Aslam's eyebrows furrowed. "Abyss Simulation?" — Aslam intervened, the coldness of his voice masking a genuine confusion. — Umbra is a continuous continent of plains and plateaus. What geographical anomaly is this?
Marcus snorted, letting out a nasal laugh and exchanging an amused look with his sister. — What kind of question is that? — the commander uncrossed his arms, finding the boy's ignorance funny. — Have you been skipping basic history classes? The whole planet knows what the Abyss of Umbra is.
Elara smiled from the corner of her mouth, assuming a professorial tone, but with the lightness of someone telling a story revered by all. — The continent of Umbra ceased to be a plain in the year 450 DEM. The center of the territory collapsed through a silent and absolute phenomenon. A colossal rift tore the earth's crust, swallowing entire mountain ranges and revealing a descent into the depths of the world. The rift is divided into layers... the Strata. Each level houses absurd ecosystems, anomalous beasts, and relics of a forgotten evolution.
— It is a hell as lucrative as it is deadly — Cordelia took the word, her eyes shining with martial excitement. — The nations and continents maintain a global pact at the edge of the crater. And the Guild has an elite division dedicated to descending into that hole: the Wraiths of Umbra.
Marcus gave a hoarse laugh, shaking his head. — Insane and filthy rich. Our father, Lord Aldrich, spent a fortune at an auction last month. He bought a crystal blade, just because it was brought and autographed by Vaelen 'The Pit Wanderer', a Wraith famous for looting the Fourth Stratum. The old man had the weapon framed in the main hall as if it were a divine relic.
— And with reason — Elara intervened, her tone gaining a palpable respect. — The environmental pressure and the hostility of the Abyss force the core of these mages to evolve in a bizarre way. A Wraith of Umbra who is only at the peak of the Internal Forge, but who lives hunting in the depths, can easily massacre a noble at the beginning of Expansion here on the surface.
— Those who manage to survive until the Fifth Stratum, like the living legend Kaelith, who came from the Akeli continent, are absolute monsters who are carved at the peak of the Third Ring — continued Cordelia. — They say that to withstand the pressure beyond the Fifth level, a mage would mandatorily need to break through to the Fourth Ring, the one of Harmony. But, as far as the world knows, only Lysandra and a few mages in history have surpassed it.
— And that is why humanity stagnated there — concluded Elara, returning to look at the tablet with a reverent sigh. — The absolute limit of current exploration is the Fifth Stratum. No one has ever returned from the Sixth level. Whoever descends to the sixth layer is considered officially dead. In fact, the Guild doesn't even know how many layers the rift has. It could be seven, ten... The bottom is an absolute mystery.
— Team Seven! Marcus, Cordelia, and Kaelus Sylvaris! — The robotic and amplified voice of the matrix echoed, cutting through the Sorcerer's thoughts. — Head to the Simulation Gate!
Under the hood, Aslam stopped for a fraction of a second. He turned his face in Marcus's direction. — Kaelus? — his voice came out cold, questioning the sudden change in the record that he himself had filled out days before as "Aslam".
Marcus crossed his arms, his face hard and unshakable. — It is your christened name. Father demanded that the tournament organization change your official record to honor the House Sylvaris in the main bracket. Did you really think we would let you use that nickname of a street legend before the Grandmasters of the capital?
— You are a Sylvaris, whether you want it or not — completed Cordelia, adjusting her leather gauntlet with impatience. — Get used to it.
Aslam's surprise lasted only a heartbeat. The name belonged to the dead boy whose body he now inhabited. For the First Sorcerer, carnal identities were just temporary labels, dust in the wind. If adopting the name "Kaelus" avoided political headaches with Lord Aldrich and simplified his stay in the tournament, it was a null price to pay. — Irrelevant — he murmured, shrugging and returning to walk. — Let it be Kaelus, then. For now.
— It's your turn — said Elara, blinking at them and ignoring the family tension. — Good hunt.